


Our Crimes

by Maitimiel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Injury, M/M, post-first kinslaying, pre-departure of the swanboats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maitimiel/pseuds/Maitimiel





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IdleLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/gifts).



“Will you come in or not?”

 

Maglor’s breath caught in his throat. Quietly, he walked inside the tent, unable to look at his cousin in the eyes, and stood awkwardly away from him, not sure Finrod would allow him to come closer, not sure he had any right to.

 

He waited, but for once, Finrod didn’t say the first word. Silence stretched between them like it hadn’t since they were teenagers. Finrod’s green eyes seemed to see all the way through Maglor and that felt uncomfortable like it never had before.

 

“Why aren’t you in Olwë’s palace?” he asked, cause he had to ask something. 

 

Finrod’s eyes flashed with fire. 

 

“My grandfather won’t take in those who murdered his people in cold blood.” his voice was hard as steel. 

 

“But you haven’t... You _haven’t _. Have you?”__

__

__“That would be you, Makalaurë,” he spoke more softly, “You’re hurt.”_ _

__

__“It’s nothing,” he shrugged his shoulders but couldn’t stop a whimper when the movement upset his injured arm. He had never felt pain before. He had experienced the soreness that came after extraneous exercise, and had called it pain, but now he knew he had been naive._ _

__

__“Don’t be an idiot. Sit down.”_ _

__

__Tentatively, he steped closer to the cot Finrod had been sitting on, and when that didn’t make his lover retract in disgust, he sat next to him._ _

__

__“Are you still coming?” he mumbled between his teeth when Finrod careful but inexperienced hands examined the deep gash in his upper arm._ _

__

__“I’m not turning back,” Finrod answered, quietly. He looked hesitant, but removed Maglor bloody shirt with great care and the help of a knife. He didn’t really know what to do. It was his sister who had studied such things. “I won’t beg forgiveness for a crime that isn’t mine.”_ _

__

__Relief, deep, undeserved, wonderful relief washed over Maglor like the tide. He caught himself thanking the gods, mindless of the doom they had inflicted upon him and his family, mindless of anything._ _

__

__“That doesn’t mean,” Finrod said, his hands stilling around Maglor’s injure, “That we are good.”_ _

__

__“It doesn’t matter,” Maglor’s voice was like a prayer, “I’d rather have you, even if you’re angry, even if you’re disappointed, even if you hate me, I would still prefer that to...”_ _

__

__“Shut up,” said Finrod, without pulling away. He wrapped his own, much cleaner shirt around the wound, artlessly, “Don’t say anything more.”_ _

__

__Maglor nodded, faithfully, and Finrod pulled an old blanket over them both as they lied down. It would be a little while yet before their departure. They might as well remain toguether._ _


End file.
